238 LEAVES FROM A HUNTING DIARY 



Sixteen miles to a meet is a fair distance, and it will take the edge off 

 a fresh horse, even a fiery chestnut from the Vale, Master George, but 

 you'll not grudge a long hack or long drive if the run comes off; and a 

 run coming off is a matter of scent nine times out of ten, and last Saturday's 

 experiences proved no exception to the rule. No one could affirm that a 

 fox hadn't a fair chance from Leaden at the first attempt ; no one asserts 

 that his egress from Lords was barred ; but the majority would admit that 

 there wasn't a yard of scent, and that the huntsman did the wisest thing — 

 getting back to Leaden and on to a fresh fox, but with almost the same 

 result if the varmint hadn't laid up in some roots for hounds to chop him 

 just when the coverts had been cleared and a fine open country lay mapped 

 out before an eager field. 



I should like to know the name of that youth who took that roll between 

 Leaden and Lords, for 1 never saw a handsomer purl or a man come up 

 more smiling and ready for another header into a blind ditch. 



That " a Roothing hunter is not made in five minutes " is an aphorism 

 worthy of "The Linkman." 



Of course, there was a fox in Garnett's, but he preferred the security 

 of a big rabbit hole to taking his luck in the open. 



Shortly after two the route was changed to Canfield Thrift, and there 

 hounds found at once. Breaking the Garnett's side they pottered and 

 dwelt for the first three fields, and most of their followers took it leisurely, 

 far too leisurely, filing after the Master as he led them over an awkward 

 corner to observe what was going on, for all at once hounds got a view, 

 and then for twenty minutes ensued such a scatter and squander as was 

 ne'er witnessed before. The blind fence running down to a small plantation 

 decided your fate. If you held to the right of that plantation you were 

 done, for hounds kept swinging away to the left, and running in view 

 nearly all the way to Olives, went at a terrific pace. Bad luck, Mr. 

 Galloway, to break a leather when you had secured a start. " A narrow 

 squeak that, Giles," said Mr. Newman Gilbey, as he shot up alongside 

 him after getting in and out of an early lane, over a very wide ditch ; and 

 hounds were tearing on in front, with the huntsman, Mr. Vickers, and Mr. 

 Seymour Caldwell close to them, and Mr. Price and Captain Tod very 

 handy. 



To the right of Olives the fox could be seen on the sky-line near two 

 ash trees ; one more rasping fence, a good headland, a squeeze through a 

 gate, and some dozen, out of 150, were galloping downhill in the deep 

 furrowed field alongside hounds, and this little band got a pull at their 

 nags as hounds checked for a moment in the rough fence at the bottom 

 that runs up to the covert. But it was only a momentary respite ; just 

 time enough to squeeze through the fence as they took up the line again 

 and commenced the return journey at the same pace they had come out. 

 Bearing a bit to the right, at first towards the railway, they crossed a lane, 

 and then took a sudden swing to the left. A lucky turn for Mr. H. Blyth 

 on his grey, and he assumed a lead which no one could wrest from him 

 until he came a regular crumpler at an extra trappy one into a lane, and 

 the pace was too good to stop to inquire, thought Messrs. Grossman, 

 Caldwell, and Carr, as they took his place, and their fences at the gallop, 

 while hounds tore away towards the Thrift well tailed out by the pace. 



Within a few fields of the Thrift hounds hung a bit, and Bailey got to 

 the front again, and our ranks closed up, and a young farmer shot to the 

 front on a four-year-old — the colt's first gallop in the Roothings — (a horse 

 worth buying, if I am not mistaken). A fresh fox, as Bailey made it good 



